


What if we ruin it all and love like fools?

by bearfeathers



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Conversations, Fuck Or Die, Gen, Getting Together, Hallucinations, Insecurity, M/M, Manipulative Loki, Misunderstandings, Secret Crush, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearfeathers/pseuds/bearfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil is exposed to a strange pollen during a mission, he locks himself in his office and orders Peter to call in an 0-9-7A. What that is, Peter's not sure, but when Nick and Steve show up to handle it, he's sure it can't be good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What if we ruin it all and love like fools?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lywinis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/gifts).



Peter has come to expect that when something goes wrong and Loki is involved, you’re gonna have a bad time. Still, he thinks as he safely dismantles another trap, booby trapping a public high school seems a bit beneath him. Especially when the majority of the traps thus-far have resulted in mostly harmless pranks. Which is _exactly_ why S.H.I.E.L.D. is on the lookout for Loki elsewhere—it’s likely he’s just attempting to use this as a diversion.

“Can someone explain to me why the Avengers get to handle Loki and we get stuck cleaning up his mess?” Peter says into his comm, sighing as he scoops the Asgardian articles into a safe containment unit.

“Because Loki is an Avengers-level Threat,” Phil answers, walking up the hall behind him. “And since your entire team was already here, it simply made more sense for you to handle this.”

It’s not the answer Peter wanted to hear and judging by the complaints buzzing in his ear, it’s not the one his team wanted either.

“Aren’t you supposed to be evacuating the school?” Peter asks the agent, doing his best to look as unhappy as possible while wearing a mask over his face.

Phil motions to the empty hallways. “Does it look un-evacuated, Mr. Parker?”

“Well, shouldn’t you be making sure everyone’s safe out there?” Peter fishes.

“Students and faculty have been evacuated, loaded onto school buses and driven to their homes. I’ve composed and sent an email to all parents and guardians as well as sent a recorded message to the phone numbers we have on file, just to cover my bases. I’ve ordered my agents to set up a perimeter around the school, ensuring no one will make it inside, and I’ve placed the building on lockdown,” Phil rattles off cleanly. A slow, mild smile makes its way to his face. “But thank you for your concern.”

Peter has the insane urge to smack that smile right off his face but he digs deep and finds the strength to control himself. Part of him knows Phil’s right, but that doesn’t make the facts any less frustrating. Sure, they’re not the Avengers, but they’ve gone up against Loki before. And come out on top, too. It’s not like they’re the same bunch of rookies they were when his team was put together and yet here they are being treated like it. Phil seems to pick up on his irritation because his expression softens—if only a by a fraction.

“Look, I understand you’d rather be out there playing with the big kids,” Phil says, his hands clasped loosely before him. “But this was just a matter of necessity. It’s not a shot against you or your team, it’s a call made based on what the situation— _Parker, look out_!”

Peter had been so focused on the agent that he’d failed to pay proper attention to the items he was handling. He looks down at his feet where a small metallic sphere has just fallen from the item he’d been placing in the container unit. He wouldn’t think there was anything wrong with that except the runes on the sphere suddenly began glowing once it hit the floor and yeah, that’s probably not a good sign.

The next thing he knows, Phil is barreling into him (and _man_ can he hit hard) and he’s roughly knocked aside. As he’s recovering from falling flat on his ass, he hears a high-pitched whine, drawing his eyes back to Phil. It’s coming from the sphere, which the agent has dropped on top of and curled himself around. There’s a sudden loud pop like a gunshot before he’s covered in a shroud of yellow smoke and Peter’s heart leaps into his throat.

“Agent Coulson!”

“Stay back!”

The words halt his sudden attempt to rush forward, his steps stuttering at the authority in the older man’s command. He doesn’t want to, but he knows rushing into whatever that yellow cloud is will have completely defeated the purpose of Phil having pushed him out of harm’s way, so he stays put. The smoke dissipates within a minute, revealing the agent curled on the ground and coughing heavily. Peter takes a few hesitant steps forward as Phil rises to his hands and knees, only to have his progress halted yet again as Phil holds out a hand.

“Stay back,” Phil coughs. “I don’t want you… to come in contact… with this.”

“We don’t know what it is,” Peter says, holding his hands out.

“All the more reason… for you to… stay back,” Phil wheezes, sounding like he’s about to hack up a lung.

“How am I supposed to help you if I can’t come near you?” Peter asks.

Phil doesn’t answer. Peter watches as his shoulder bunch, the muscles drawing in tight, before he hears a low, quiet moan. Phil’s hands are balled into fists as his head hangs between his shoulders and they may not know what this is, but it’s clear he’s in some sort of pain and Peter’s not going to sit here and do nothing about it.

“Coulson, let me help,” Peter says, slowly inching forward. “At least let me move you away from this stuff and then I can call—“

“Don’t, Parker,” Phil snaps. “Just… wait.”

He slowly drags himself off the floor, his posture tense as he does so, until he’s propped up against the wall for support. Peter can see as well as hear him panting for breath and when the acting principal catches his gaze, he can see that the man’s eyes are fever bright. There’s a fine yellow powder clinging to his entire person and whatever it is, it isn’t making life very easy for him.

“Coulson,” Peter says again, imploringly. “You need to let me help you.”

“I need you… to call Fury,” Phil corrects him. His eyes close briefly and the muscles in his jaw jump in agitation before he forces himself to continue. “There’s a decontamination unit… in my office. I’m going. Do not open the door. Under any circumstances. Tell Fury… we have an 0-9-7A. Gather your team… _do not_ touch anything else. Understand?”

“Decontamination. In your office. 0-9-7A. Don’t touch anything,” Peter parrots back at him. “You gonna make it?”

“I’m fine. Go,” Phil says.

When Peter hesitates, Phil repeats himself. The teen turns and heads down the hallway towards his teammates; but not before looking back once to confirm that Phil is slowly limping towards his office, leaning heavily on the wall all the while. As he dials Nick, Peter has no idea what an 0-9-7A is, but he’s sure he’s not going to like it any more once he finds out.

* * *

Nick presses his hands to his face as he concludes his call with Phil, following his call with Peter. Of all the things to have happen, it had to be this. And it had to be Phil. He pulls up the man’s file, quickly navigating to the 0-9-7A forms within. And if he thought it couldn’t have gotten any worse, he’d have been wrong. But he makes the call, waits patiently and hardly ten minutes later, Steve Rogers is standing in his office.

“You said it was an emergency?” Steve says, suited up and looking ready and raring to go.

“Yes, but nothing you’ll need all that for,” Nick says, gesturing to his suit and shield. “Or maybe you will. Hell if I know.”

“What’s going on here, Nick?” Steve asks, suspicion making its way to his features.

“Our incident at Midtown High just got worse,” Nick answers.

“The kids?” Steve asks.

“No,” Nick says, waving off his concerns. “The kids are fine.”

He watches Steve relax momentarily before his mind jumps to the next possibility and his posture grows taut with concern.

“Agent Coulson?”

Nick nods.

“Well, what happened?” Steve demands. “Is he alright?”

“I’m about to explain something to you that may not make a great deal of sense,” Nick tells him instead, motioning for him to take a seat. “But hear me out.”

 _“Is he alright?”_ Steve repeats firmly.

Nick sighs impatiently. “In a manner of speaking. He’s not injured, but I can tell you he’s in a great deal of pain. If you’d shut up for five minutes and let me explain?”

Steve opens his mouth to retort, thinks better of it, and slowly takes the seat offered to him previously. This isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation, Nick knows, and Steve giving him lip is the last thing he needs right now.

“Coulson called in an 0-9-7A. What that means is that he’s been exposed to some kind of chemical or biological agent which has resulted in two things: extreme physical pain coupled with sudden increase in libido. In layman’s terms, he’s been doused with sex pollen,” Nick explains, watching Steve’s expression grow more incredulous with each passing second. “Now, believe it or not, we have our agents fill out forms in the event of such a thing happening, rare as it is. Each agent is to list at least one individual that they would consent to have sent in to help them through the situation, should the need arise. You’re listed on Coulson’s file.”

“Me?” Steve echoes, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“I know, I know, just let me explain,” Nick says, holding up his hands peaceably. “Now, I know for a fact who Phil had originally written down. The thing of it is, she was killed in the Battle of New York. With everything that happened, we never thought to update that particular portion of his file. I believe Loki has something to do with your name appearing there instead, but as far as any one of my handwriting experts can tell, Phil wrote that himself. As much as I hate to say it, currently it’s the only form we have with some sort of declaration of consent.”

Steve takes a minute to process everything he’s just been told. He has more questions than he’s sure they have time for, so he condenses them down to as few as possible to get what he needs to know.

“When you say someone is sent in to help them through the situation, do you mean…?”

“Yes, I mean sent in to have sex with them,” Nick answers.

“And that’s supposed to help?” Steve asks.

“Our research has shown that sexual activity burns the pollen out of the infected individual’s system,” Nick answers.

“Well then couldn’t any physical activity do the same?” Steve proposes.

“If I thought I could solve this by sticking him on a damn treadmill, do you think I would have bothered to call you?” Nick asks flatly.

“No, I guess not,” Steve says, scratching the back of his neck.

“You’re not going to be forced to do anything here, Steve,” Nick tells him. “This is a matter of your discretion and consent as much as it is his. You’re not obligated to do anything here and if you say no, I’ll attempt to find someone else.”

“What will happen if you can’t?” Steve asks. “If I say no and you can’t find someone else, what happens to him?”

“That’s not your concern.”

“I consider it very much my concern.”

Steve seems to worry when Nick actually hesitates to answer. “I can’t say with certainty. Every case is different because every case we’ve dealt with has involved a different chemical or biological agent. He could simply have to put up with the pain for a few hours or days until it’s out of his system, or… it could kill him. We just don’t know. But at the rate things are going, it doesn’t look as though it’s going to work itself out.”

Nick knows that now isn’t the time to mince words, but despite this he can’t bring himself to outright say that this is killing Phil. Whether it’s because he doesn’t want to have to admit to himself that it’s actually happening or because he doesn’t want to feel as though he’s guilting Steve into this, he can’t say.

“I’ll do it,” Steve says. “If he consents to it, then I’ll do it.”

“This isn’t a decision to make light of,” Nick reminds him.

“Do I look like I’m making light of it?” Steve fires back with a thunderous frown. “If we go there and he consents to letting me help, I’ll do it. On his word only.”

“You’re sure?” Nick asks.

“I’m sure,” Steve says, rising from his seat. “Now let’s get moving. It sounds like the longer we stand here and talk, the worse it’ll be.”

* * *

Steve’s gut churns unpleasantly as they walk through the halls of Midtown High. This whole situation is treading a very thin moral line and regardless of what he’s told Nick, he’s not sure how comfortable he is with all of it. There are so many variables, so many things to consider that one thing wrong could ruin one or both of their lives.

First and foremost is the fact that Steve needs to know that Phil will consent to this and, moreover, that he’s actually _capable_ of giving consent at this point. Assuming he’s capable and that he does, there’s the added issue of the fact that Steve can’t help but feel as though he’s taking advantage of the situation. Given the fact that he’s grown more than a little attracted to the agent since they’d first met, the idea of having sex with him without making that known feels… underhanded. In the same token, confessing his feelings to Phil either before or after would feel too much like a guilt trip. If they go through with this, he doesn’t want Phil feeling obligated or indebted to him in any way.

Then there’s the fact of the form itself. Had Loki somehow managed to manipulate the file to display his name… or had Nick been wrong? Is it possible that Phil truly written it himself? He’s not sure what to make of either possibility, but the sight of the kids gathered anxiously outside the principal’s office brings him back to the moment.

“What took you so long?” Peter demands, striding forward to meet them. “Didn’t you bring a med team or something? Why’s Cap here?”

“Calm down, Parker,” Nick says, intercepting the teen before he can rattle off any more questions. “We’ve got the situation under control, so you and your team can follow me.”

“But what about Coulson?” Ava asks. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“And we won’t. He’ll be taken care of,” Nick assures them. “But we need to clear you from the area in order to do so. Everything will be explained in the debriefing, but the sooner we move, the sooner we can help.”

The group of teens seems reluctantly to abandon their post, but the worry that’s keeping them there eventually leads them to find sense in Nick’s words. Steve watches them all begin to troop out, following the director like ducklings follow their mother—right up until they notice that Steve isn’t coming with them.

“Cap, you coming?” Sam asks, looking back at him curiously.

Steve shakes his head slowly. “No, you go on ahead. I have to stay here for Agent Coulson.”

He knows these kids aren’t stupid. They may not know what’s going on, but they can certainly tell that something’s being kept from them. But rather than stir up trouble by digging their heels in, they quietly accept his answer at face value. Inwardly, he breathes a sigh of relief at having dodged a bullet—it’s not a conversation that he’s prepared to have with them and while he’s sure Nick’s going to get an earful, he’s got his own troubles to worry about. He makes sure the group has disappeared around the corner before he keys in the override code that Nick had given him.

Steve stands patiently as the door performs a retinal scan and, satisfied that he is who he’s presenting himself as, the system unlocks the door and allows him entry. He nudges the door open slowly, not wishing to startle the man inside, but can’t help but be surprised by the scene before him. Although he’s never been in Phil’s office, he knows from the blueprints Nick has shared with him that it conceals many hidden passages and compartments. One of those being, apparently, a decontamination unit within a closet. The door is wide open and on the floor he can see several articles of clothing, partially damp and covered in some sort of yellow powder. Wet footprints on the floor lead over to the sofa where he finds Phil, sitting hunched over and wrapped in a large, grey blanket.

“Agent Coulson?” Steve ventures, attempting to grab the man’s attention as he closes the door behind him.

Phil looks up, his eyes pinched and his face flushed, and stares at Steve in confusion before ducking his head once more. “Wondered if there’d be hallucinations…”

“I’m not a hallucination,” Steve assures him, approaching the sofa.

“That’s… just what a hallucination would say,” Phil answers.

Steve gingerly seats himself beside the agent, resting the duffel Nick had given him on the floor beside his feet. From this close, he can see that Phil is shivering, still slightly damp from the decontamination unit despite the heat his body is throwing off. The flush on his cheeks is also steadily creeping up his chest, making Steve wonder how he can stand to have that thick blanket around him.

“I’m not a hallucination, I’m here to help,” Steve tries again. “You called in an 0-9-7A to Nick. Can you walk me through what you’ve done so far?”

“Quarantined myself here. Stripped. Entered the decontamination unit. Went a couple rounds because I… it felt like I couldn’t get it off. I kept scrubbing but my skin was itching and it was stuck to me and I couldn’t get it off. And then I administered the… the broad spectrum antidote,” Phil reports, eyes shut tight as he concentrates on blocking out the pain. “It’s not… working, though.”

“Doesn’t seem to be,” Steve agrees. “And how long ago was that?”

“An hour?” Phil guesses. “Maybe longer? I’m… why are you here?”

“I was listed on your 0-9-7A form as your preferred partner,” Steve answers, deciding getting straight to the point is the best option for everyone.

Phil looks up, his eyes searching for a long, long while. Enough time for Steve to reach the conclusion that, no, Phil hadn’t been the one to write him in on his form. Which means his presence here could be, at best, unwanted, and at worst, intimidating.

“Captain, I didn’t… that wasn’t…” Phil stammers, as he tries to force the words out.

He’s forced to give up as Steve watches him curl even further in on himself, his shoulders bunched up and trembling. A soft groan of pain, nearly undetectable, moves Steve to rest a hand on the shorter man’s back in an attempt to comfort him in some small way. Even through the blanket, Phil is so warm that Steve’s half-sure he could fry an egg on him if he tried and his concern doubles.

“I know you didn’t write it, Phil,” Steve explains, rubbing his back. “Nick said whoever you had written passed away during the Chitauri Invasion.”

“With everything that happened I hadn’t considered…” Phil says, looking horrified by the implications.

Well, that complicates matters significantly. Still, they need to get this sorted out quickly—from the looks of it, Phil isn’t doing very well.

“Is there someone you can think of? Someone you’d be comfortable with?” Steve questions.

The agent falls silent, apparently giving the question some serious consideration. Seconds tick by and he fails to come up with an answer. It’s likely difficult enough as it is trying to think and manage his pain at the same time, but factoring this in? How does one go about asking someone to have sex with them to save their life?

“You know I’m here because I agreed to be, right? So if you can’t think of anyone…” Steve says.

Phil shakes his head. “Can’t… can’t make you do that…”

“No one’s making me do anything, Phil,” Steve assures him. “I’ve already signed off on all the paperwork. But you don’t have to agree just because I happen to be here. If you’re not comfortable with me, let me know now so I can find someone you _are_ comfortable with. From what Nick told me, this might be a time sensitive issue and as it is, you’re hurting pretty badly already, aren’t you? I want to help, however you let me do that is up to you.”

Phil nods his head, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. Steve doesn’t envy his position. He can’t imagine how terrifying it must be to have to make this kind of decision. He hates seeing Phil suffer, hates that the agent has been boxed into this corner simply for trying to protect one of their heroes in training.

“Awful lot to ask, isn’t it?” Phil questions.

“Not for a friend,” Steve corrects him.

He watches as the agent breaks eye contact, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Phil shakes as his breaths comes short and fast, seemingly incapable of sitting up straight as he does his best to keep his suffering quiet and locked down.

“Are we?” Phil asks him, his voice breathless.

“I’d like to think so.”

It’s plain to see Phil is still struggling with the decision. Steve continues to rub his back slowly, his hand traveling further and further up his spine until he’s gently massaging Phil’s neck. He hears another soft groan, but it’s different than the others he’s heard—this one doesn’t sound as though it’s from pain. Quite the opposite. What with the way Phil is leaning into him, drawn to his touch, he wonders if the decision has been made and the agent is simply too embarrassed to have to say it.

“Phil, I need you to talk to me,” Steve reminds him. “Are you capable of making this decision?”

“Yes,” Phil answers.

“Have you made it?”

“Yes, I’m… Captain—“

“Steve.”

“Steve, I’m giving you my consent. Are you… are you sure you…?”

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t be here,” Steve tells him. “We’re gonna get you through this. I promise.”

Phil looks up at him, breathing heavy and eyes far too bright. Again, Steve’s gut clenches painfully at the idea of doing this while Phil is impaired, but should he refuse on moral grounds and leave this task to someone else? Or, at worst, cost Phil his life because of it?

“I’m sorry,” Phil murmurs. “I’m sorry, I never… This is so wrong of me, but I…”

Not knowing what else to say, Steve kisses him. Not to shut him up, no, but to try and assure him in some way that he has nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t his fault. This isn’t the fault of either of them. They’ll just have to find a way to make this work. Phil’s given his consent and Steve’s given his, anything else will have to be dealt with after they’ve gotten the agent out of the woods.

Phil leans into the kiss with a soft, needy noise, and as Steve slowly presses him back against the sofa and begins to pull the blanket away, Phil clings to him like his life depends on it, his hands pulling Steve closer. The realization that this is actually happening—that Phil’s life may _actually_ depend on it—comes crashing over him live a wave breaking at high tide. He’d been struggling to understand his feelings for Phil for months and while he’d come to discover that this might be something he’d want, this isn’t how he wanted it to happen.

When he shifts the blanket from the agent’s shoulders, Phil doesn’t seem to mind, instead seeming more focused on getting closer to Steve by any means possible. But the second Steve’s gaze focuses on the twisted line of scar tissue running down the left side of his chest, the spell seems to break for a brief moment. The agent’s shoulders hunch self-consciously under Steve’s gaze, his hands pulling off of the soldier to cover himself, but Steve can’t draw his gaze away. This is the first time he’s seen the damage done by Loki’s spear—he wonders how many others have seen—and he finds himself taken aback. It’s not that he didn’t consider that there would be scars left behind, it’s just that it’s all suddenly very real and very much in front of him now.

“I don’t mean to stare,” Steve says, shaking his head. “It’s just that I’ve never seen the scars and… we didn’t see you at all during your recovery, so I think part of me expected that there wouldn’t be any. I never forgot, you know. I never forgot what you did, what you went through—”

“Don’t. Don’t say that now, please. It’s not important. It’s…” Phil says, bowing his head. “Please don’t.”

He groans, a mixture of pain and embarrassment drives him to Steve’s arms as he hunches over once more and the captain herds him closer. His forehead rests on the soldier’s shoulder as he tries to breathe through it. Steve can’t help but embrace him, his hands rubbing the agent’s bare back as he does his best to make him more comfortable. His fingers brush against the brother of the scar on Phil’s chest and he quickly draws them away, not wishing to embarrass him any further than he already had. But his touch seems to calm the ailing man, at least enough so that his tremors have dissolved somewhat.

“I want you to know I’m not doing this because of… that,” Steve tells him honestly. “This isn’t because I feel I owe you one. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, but I needed to make that very clear, at least.”

“No, I’m… I’m sorry, I just can’t… _think_ ,” Phil breathes unevenly. “And I don’t like to… I don’t like to talk about it… but I hid it and I never let any of you know I was alive and I should have, I shouldn’t have left all of you to just… I shouldn’t…”

“Okay. It’s okay, Phil,” Steve says, his hands making slow, soothing passes along the length of the agent’s back. “It was my fault for bringing it up. You don’t have to explain anything, just take it easy and try to breathe.”

It’s not something any of them have talked about. It was never explained to any of them just how Phil’s life had been saved; not in any great detail, anyway. Months had gone by before Nick had presented Phil to them, looking about the same as he had before his confrontation with Loki. Perhaps that’s why Steve had been so taken by the sight of his scars. Because they hadn’t been there for the months he’d probably spent in recovery, they hadn’t been there for the physical therapy, for anything that he’d had to go through to get him back to himself. Phil had just reappeared as though nothing had happened at all.

Moments pass and Phil gradually seems to calm with the help of Steve’s touch. The agent turns his head, his breath tickling the skin of Steve’s neck before he takes to nuzzling the junction between Steve’s neck and shoulder. It’s shouldn’t feel good. Nothing about this situation should feel good, but God it does. He sits back against the couch and pulls Phil into his lap, his lips finding Phil’s again as his hands continue their exploration of the agent’s body. He’s surprisingly fit—surprisingly only because Steve’s never seen him in anything other than a suit. Who would’ve thought that underneath would be all this lean muscle and compact physique?

Phil had stripped all of his clothes off before his shower in the decontamination chamber, so Steve isn’t surprised to find that he’s nude beneath the blanket. He _is_ a little surprised to find that Phil is already hard as he grinds against Steve, but given the outlandish situation they find themselves in, he supposes it’s not really all that unusual. Steve shifts his hips experimentally, drawing a pleased purr from the man in his lap who rubs himself against the growing bulge in Steve’s uniform. Steve’s arms curl around him and he takes two handfuls of the agent’s backside, moving up against him and shifting from Phil’s lips to his collarbone. He latches on, sucking a welt into the man’s skin until Phil tips his head back and moans, long and low, rolling his hips against Steve’s.

The agent’s hips jump when Steve’s hand curls around his cock and immediately Steve can tell that this pollen has Phil ramped up like a gun ready to go off. He responds so positively to Steve’s touch, pressing into his hand, his hips making short, quick thrusts as Steve strokes him gently and swallows each needy whimper that passes from Phil’s lips to his own. Ignoring his own arousal, Steve focuses on Phil’s needs, knowing that for now, what’s best for him is to make this quick.

The soldier breaks away just long enough to pull the duffel Nick had given him up onto the couch with them. Unzipping it quickly, he reaches inside and rummages until he finds the bottle he’s looking for. He doesn’t have time to warm the lube the way he’d like to, but judging by the way Phil bucks into his slicked up hand, it’s not much of a problem.

It doesn’t take him long to drive Phil to his finish. With a soft whine that vibrates against Steve’s lips, he stills before spilling over Steve’s fist with a shudder. Steve works him through it, his ministrations slow and attentive as the agent rides it out to his very last. When he slumps forward in exhaustion, Steve is there to support him as his body goes limp with sudden loss of consciousness. With his free hand, Steve fishes a cloth out of the duffel, cleaning Phil up a bit before they do anything else. That done, he grabs the large S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue blanket and wraps Phil up in it as he falls into a deep sleep.

“Alright, we’re just gonna move you for one minute here, Phil,” Steve murmurs, knowing full-well that Phil can’t hear him.

He lifts Phil gently from the sofa, carrying him around the desk and depositing him in his office chair. Phil doesn’t stir, continuing to breathe softly as he sleeps. Nick had explained all of this to him; it would take at least a day to work the pollen out of his system, which meant the two of them were effectively on lockdown.

Firstly, he types a series of numbers on the keyboard on Phil’s desk and watches thick panes rise from the floor to cover the walls. At the very least they’ll have some privacy for the duration—the walls are soundproof and nearly indestructible. That done, he moves to the closets and pulls out pillows and neatly folded sheets and places them on the edge of the desk. He gets to work, pulling the sofa out into a bed and making it up.

Once it’s something resembling comfortable, he returns to Phil and lifts him once more, moving him to the bed and tucking him in, doing his best not to disturb the agent. He changes out of his uniform and into a t-shirt and a pair of sweats and slips into the bed beside the sleeping agent.

He looks peaceful now, but Steve knows it won’t last. Brushing his hand through Phil’s hair, he wonders again what to do about this whole situation. Wonders what he should or shouldn’t tell Phil. Wonders which things Phil deserves to know and which would damage the relationship between them beyond repair. Wonders what the repercussions of their choices will be.

For better or for worse, they’re both here now, in this together. They’ll just have to see where it takes them.

* * *

“Fuck, fuck, please.”

They’ve had sex three times now, but still, hearing those words from Phil, drinking in the sight of the agent stretched out beneath him, still they haven’t lost their appeal. Steve loves it. He hates himself for it, but loves it all the same. He loves every noise Phil makes, loves the way his eyes gaze up at him with want and desire, loves the way he feels around him. Loves making him feel good.

He lies back against the bed, pulling Phil up with the movement until he sits on top of Steve. Phil doesn’t need to be given any further hint as he braces his hands against Steve’s chest and grinds down against him, meeting him on every upward thrust. Steve runs his hands up the other man’s thighs before they come to rest on Phil’s hips. His thumbs rub rhythmic circles into Phil’s hipbones for a time before his hands continue their journey, sliding up his sides and down before migrating to his cock.

_“Steve.”_

The sound of his own name shouldn’t turn him on like this, but leaving Phil’s lips, it’s damn near pornographic. It’s oddly satisfying when Phil climaxes and he follows just moments later, putting them in near-tandem as they ride out their release. At the end of it, Phil tips forward and comes to lie against his chest, mumbling sleepily before kissing his cheek and drifting off once again.

The action prods at the coals in Steve’s chest, stirring the fire there despite his best efforts to keep it smothered. He turns his head, mirroring the agent’s action and kissing Phil on the cheek. He doesn’t move straight away, choosing to simply hold Phil close to him, relaxing as the high of his orgasm slowly wears off. He can feel Phil’s temperature steadily dropping, returning to something approaching normal, and wonders when it will stay that way.

As much as he would like to stay as he is, he knows that, eventually, he has to move. So Steve cleans them up—again—and tucks Phil back into bed before preparing for the next time he wakes.

* * *

Phil murmurs feverishly as he begins to wake once more. Steve catches snippets here and there; not full sentences but enough for him to piece together that Phil’s pain isn’t just physical. He shushes the agent quietly, mopping a cold, wet cloth against his brow. It seems to sooth him for the time being, but Steve knows that it’s only a delay. He’s tried this enough times since they’d begun to know that eventually Phil will wake regardless of his efforts to sooth the man.

Not for the first time, Steve wonders what sort of toll this could be taking on Phil. His body temperature has reached dangerously high levels time and again and try as he might, there’s only so much Steve can get him to drink in his limited durations of consciousness. Those are just some of the things Steve can observe himself. There’s no telling what the pollen itself could actually be doing to him and it must be doing something with how much pain he’s been experiencing.

It’s one thing when Phil is actually awake—he has better control on what he lets Steve see. When he’s asleep like this, however, his filter is much less effective. Unfortunately it’s an effective way of telling Steve just how badly he’s hurting, since he won’t do it himself.

“Phil, I’m right here,” Steve says quietly. “It’s alright.”

The agent wakes as he often does—eyes pinched with pain, panting as he stares up at Steve as though he doesn’t remember how they’d gotten there.

“Steve?” he croaks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, flipping the cloth on his forehead to the cooler side.

Phil closes his eyes, squeezes them shut tight as though that might make this whole situation disappear. It doesn’t, of course, and he pries his eyes open to stare at Steve blearily once more.

“You’re still here,” Phil says, sounding surprised.

“Of course I am,” Steve says. “I said we’d get you through this, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees slowly. He closes his eyes, eyebrows drawn together as he takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself. “I’m sorry.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t need to apologize?” Steve asks, reaching to pull the cloth away and deposit it in the water basin. “I’m here because I want to be. I care about you, you know.”

While meant to reassure, his statement seems to only confuse Phil all the more. Steve clucks his tongue, rubbing at the back of his own neck as he mulls it over.

“Guess I haven’t done much to prove that,” he admits.

“No, I just… It’s strange for me,” Phil says, struggling to sit up. He sighs, holding his head in his hands once he’s upright. After some prodding, he eventually accepts the water bottle Steve is pushing on him and takes a few, sparse sips. “This is all… strange.”

He’s hanging his head again, his shoulders bunched up and trembling once more. When Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders, herding him close, he follows willingly, eagerly even. At the very least, Phil has grown more comfortable with this, despite all his apologies. Steve turns his head, his lips brushing against the agent’s ear as his fingers trail down Phil’s spine.

“Tell me what you need,” he says quietly. “I’m here.”

Phil isn’t as hesitant as he’d been their first time. Steve knows he’s still questioning the captain’s motives for being there, but at the very least he’s opened up enough to feel safe asking for this. His arms loop around Steve’s neck as he kisses him and everything Phil gives, Steve gives it right back. He kisses Phil like he’s worth being kissed, trying to convey that this isn’t a chore or something done out of duty. He wants Phil to know that it _means_ something.

The wind up lying on their sides, Phil’s leg hooked over Steve’s as the soldier thrusts deep inside him, slow and steady, his hands keeping the agent pressed close to him. Steve doesn’t know if it’s simply the pollen to blame, but what is supposed to be simple sex to work it off has grown to feel like anything but. He wonders if his own feelings are muddying his perception, wonders if he’s just perceiving the situation as he’d like it to be, until Phil changes his mind.

“Never thought this would actually happen,” Phil sighs.

“That what would happen?” Steve asks, nipping at his shoulder.

“This,” Phil says, arching back against him as Steve thumbs the head of his cock. “I never thought… that you would ever want…”

Steve feels a low swooping in his stomach. “Never thought that I’d want what? What, Phil?”

“Me.”

It’s so quiet, Steve questions whether he’d heard it at all. Does he mean what Steve thinks he means? Or is he reading too much into this?

“But I know that’s not… it’s not wanting, it’s… I know you couldn’t really outside of a hallucination…”

“But I do,” Steve blurts.

“But after—“

“And after,” Steve assures him. “Phil I don’t think you understand—this isn’t easy for me. I… Christ, this is the worst time for this, but I’ve wanted to be with you for months. I didn’t want it to be like this, I wanted to do it right; ask you out, take you out to dinner, go on proper dates… the whole thing. But then this happened and…”

He stops himself there, regretting what he’s said and afraid to say anything more, stilling his hips in the process. What must Phil think of him? How disgusted is he? Because the picture he’d painted wasn’t a pretty one; at the end of the day, it just sounds like Steve had taken advantage of the situation as a means to an easy fuck. He pulls out and begins to pull away, stomach sick at Phil’s silence and believing he’d done irreparable damage in the span of a few moments.

“Don’t stop.”

Steve freezes as Phil rolls back towards him, out of breath and flush with the fever consuming him but without even a hint of judgment or disgust. He reaches out, his hand clumsily finding Steve’s.

“Stay,” Phil breathes. “Please. If you mean that, stay.”

The soldier hesitates a fraction of a second before slowly sipping down and pressing his lips to Phil’s. The agents hands come up to frame his face, pulling him back down to the bed on top of him. He wraps his legs around Steve, guiding the soldier back inside him with a satisfied groan. Steve rocks against him in something softer, more tender than the desperate, needy sex they’d had up until now. It’s different now than it had been before. Something more. It’s not just in his head, he can feel it—and he knows Phil can feel it, too.

Phil comes with Steve’s name on his lips and after, as they lie together, he curls in towards the captain. Phil is claimed by sleep as quickly as ever, but this time it’s with his arms around Steve, the barrier that had kept him from getting that close having crumbled with the simple admission. He doesn’t stir as Steve begins rubbing his back once more, but that’s to be expected. Still, as Steve holds the agent close, his arms wrapped securely around him, he starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, this might turn out alright after all.

* * *

It’s well over a day—closer to a day and a half, really—by the time Phil is down for the count. Steve cleans up, changing back into his sweats and dressing Phil in the pair that had been packed for him. For the first time since this whole mess had started, he actually seems at peace and free of pain. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he presses a hand to the agent’s head. His temperature has returned to normal, giving Steve further reason to believe that he’s made it through it.

Steve himself is exhausted, so he can only imagine how Phil’s feeling. He doesn’t know how Phil typically sleeps, but he’s not waking for anything now and probably won’t for some time. Passing his hand through the agent’s hair once more, Steve rises and walks over to the desk to retrieve his phone and call Nick. It barely gets to the second ring before it’s answered.

“What’s his status?” Nick asks without preamble.

“He’s sleeping now,” Steve says, leaning his hip against the desk. “I think he’s worked it out of his system.”

“You’re sure about that?” Nick questions.

“Well, his fever’s gone and he doesn’t seem to be in any pain,” Steve reports. “He’s been out for a while now. He’d been waking up at three hour intervals and it’s been four hours without any signs of his fever returning. I’m pretty sure it’s run its course.”

“Alright,” Nick answers. “Let’s wait another two hours, just to be sure. In the meantime, I want you to stay put, keep an eye on him. Once the two hours have passed, I’ll be by with a med team to pick you both up.”

“Both of us?” Steve echoes.

“It’s standard procedure,” Nick tells him. “Because you were in contact with him, we need to run some test on you as well. We’ll be keeping him for treatment and observation, but assuming your tests come back clean, you’ll be free to leave.”

“Understood,” Steve says with a nod of his head. “I’ll see you when you get here, then.”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Steve hears all the things Nick doesn’t say—or perhaps _can’t_ say. He knows full well what Nick and Phil mean to one another, which is why he knows that, regardless of how collected he was, Nick had been scared. Because one of his best friends had been suffering—dying, even—and there had been nothing he could do about it. There was no wound to cover, no bleeding to stem, no hurt that he could have eased with his own two hands. Being powerless is a position that Nick despises being in and this is the second time that Steve knows of that Phil had managed to place him in that position. No, Nick doesn’t say any of these things, but the words come through loud and clear none-the-less.

“I’ll just be glad once I know he’s alright,” Steve answers at length.

“You and me both,” Nick sighs in return. “If there’s any sign that he might need immediate medical attention, you know how to reach me. But if not, just sit tight and we’ll see you in two hours.”

When Nick hangs up, Steve returns to the bed and sits on the edge. He watches Phil silently for a time, reflecting on what had transpired within the past two days. He’s still not comfortable with how it had all gone down, but at the very least, it seems they won’t be walking away from this having done irreparable damage to their relationship. If anything, it’s the opposite.

Unable to stop himself, he leans over and presses one last kiss to the agent’s temple, unable to describe the pleased flutter he gets in his stomach when Phil murmurs in his sleep and rolls towards him. There’s a very serious conversation in their future, but for the time being, he finds himself thankful that Phil is seemingly through the worst of it and prays that whatever follows won’t be too hard on either of them.

* * *

Once again, Thor finds himself bearing the heavy weight of his brother’s misdeeds. Once again, he finds Phil Coulson caught in the crossfire. So it is that he worriedly makes his way through the corridors of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s medical facility, intent on laying eyes on the agent himself. After hearing about just what sort of trouble he’d been put through, Thor had gone to Nick and given him as detailed an explanation as he could on what to expect, which is why, as he pushes the door to Phil’s room open, he isn’t surprised to find the agent is unconscious.

He _is_ , however, surprised to find Steve asleep in the chair beside Phil’s bed.

As silently as possible, he closes the door behind him and inches forward. He had been told that Steve had volunteered to aid Phil and while Thor thinks it a fine union, he burns with the thought that it hadn’t been allowed to occur naturally. Regardless of the consent given, this hadn’t been a matter of choice, but rather one of necessity.

Despite the fact that Phil certainly looks exhausted, he doesn’t seem to be in any pain and is breathing deep and even as he sleeps. Thor reaches out and rests a hand on the agent’s forehead, feeling for himself that the pollen’s fever has subsided.

“He was burning up.”

Thor turns his head at the announcement to find Steve sitting up straighter and rubbing tiredly at his eyes. The soldier yawns heavily before blinking up at him sleepily.

“How are you, my friend?” Thor asks earnestly.

“Tired. Exhausted, really, but they gave me a clean bill of health,” Steve responds. “Any news?”

“No. I’m afraid we’ve come no closer to finding Loki or his reasoning for all of this,” Thor says with some frustration. “I must admit, I struggle to find sense in his actions myself.”

“You’re not the only one,” Steve says, swiping a hand across his face.

Thor casts his gaze back to Phil. “On Asgard, this pollen is used as an aphrodisiac of sorts, but only in limited doses. Even an Asgardian would be overcome by the amount he was exposed to. I would not expect the Son of Coul to wake for quite some time.”

“That’s what they said. The doctors, I mean,” Steve says. “But it’s hardly surprising considering what he just went through. I’m exhausted and I didn’t even come near the stuff.”

“It is my understanding that he was in a great deal of pain,” Thor says, his voice a soft rumble.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees quietly. “Thor, it’s not your fault. You had nothing to do with this.”

“Perhaps not, but my brother’s actions are my responsibility,” Thor counters heavily. “What he has done to each of you through his trickery is inexcusable. There are times where I wonder if Loki is simply sore at having been tricked himself, for if he intends to kill someone he is certain to see it done and finding the Son of Coul alive has surely caused him some ire.”

“Are you saying you think Loki may have done this just because he’s embarrassed he wasn’t able to kill Phil?” Steve asks, one eyebrow quirked curiously.

“I am uncertain,” Thor says with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “But he does seem to target our friend—at least peripherally—more often than not when he is here, does he not?”

Steve pauses to consider it. True, Loki has engaged their young heroes, and therefore Phil, quite a few times in recent memory. But he couldn’t possibly be doing it simply because he had some strange grudge against the agent… could he? It seems too ridiculous to even consider, but Loki isn’t exactly the kind of person whose plans make sense at the outset.

“We haven’t found Loki yet,” Steve notes, reaching for the water bottle he’d placed on the bedside table before drifting off. “But when we do, I’d like to get to the bottom of this. I can’t say that the idea that Loki might have set this up just to torment Phil for some kind of ridiculous grudge makes me particularly happy.”

“Nor I,” Thor says in agreement. He sighs heavily and looks to Steve with weary eyes. “This should never have happened. I can only pray that you will find a way to repair whatever damage has been done between you and that I might aid you in the process, if it is at all possible.”

He watches Steve frown at his words and feels his heart sink in his chest. Perhaps the situation is even worse that he’d thought. Quietly, he curses Loki’s meddling. Life has no obligation to be fair, that he knows, but he can’t help but look at this situation and cry foul. Neither of his friends deserve to carry this weight.

“I’m not so sure it’ll be as much of a problem as we’d first thought,” Steve says.

Thor thinks it fair that he is more than somewhat surprised at this declaration.

“Well, it’s just that…” Steve begins, pausing to clear his throat. “Thor, I don’t know if you know this or if anyone else does, but I’ve had feelings for Phil for some time now. From the sounds of it, Phil has felt the same way. I wish it hadn’t happened like this, but I think… I think we’ll be okay, as strange as it is to say. This isn’t right and when he wakes up we’ll need to have a long, long talk about things, but considering the situation we found ourselves in, things could’ve turned out worse.”

“I was unaware you harbored such feelings for our Son of Coul,” Thor says with raised eyebrows. “True, I had thought on more than one occasion that you would make a fine couple, but I hardly considered it my place to say as much. And you say he returns your feelings?”

“That was the impression I got,” Steve answers. “But like I said, there’s a lot we need to talk about. This wasn’t the way I wanted him to find out from me.”

“I would imagine not,” Thor murmurs in agreement. He studies Steve, taking in the way the soldier’s droop wearily and the exhaustion clear in his eyes. “My friend, you should be resting yourself. This has been a trying time for you as well.”

Thor watches as his fellow Avenger hesitates to answer. “I don’t feel right leaving him.”

“I would gladly take your place in keeping watch over him,” Thor tells him.

“Thanks, Thor,” Steve says earnestly. “But I’d like to be here when he wakes up. It just… wouldn’t feel right if I left him.”

“I understand,” Thor says with a nod of his head. He looks to Phil once more, certain that it will still be quite some time before he wakes and wishing that Steve would accept his offer. But he knows the soldier is a man of responsibility and of honor and so leaving Phil’s side is not something he’s willing to do—not after what they’d just been through together. “Perhaps, then, you would not mind company.”

“That I could do with,” Steve says with small smile.

Thor lifts a nearby chair and sets it down beside Steve before settling in. As predicted, the soldier isn’t long for the waking world, but Thor is more than happy to take up watch in his place.

* * *

Steve is barely awake himself when Phil regains consciousness. Thor has resumed his search for Loki and the kids have come and gone. The agent’s bleary gaze finds the card and the plastic flowers sitting on the table beside his bed as he slowly blinks himself awake.

“The kids didn’t want to show up empty handed, but they figured you’d probably dealt with enough pollen, so… plastic,” Steve explains. He clears his throat and leans forward in his seat. “How do you feel?”

“Not great,” Phil admits in a throaty rasp.

“I guessed not,” Steve answers. “Your doctor said you’re going to have to take it easy for a while. The high school is closed for the remainder of the week to make sure there are no remaining traps, so you don’t have to worry about missing work.”

Phil hums something in recognition, his eyes sliding shut once more. Steve’s fairly certain the news is welcome, even if Phil hasn’t got the energy to show it. They sit for a time in companionable silence until, rather abruptly, Phil’s eyes are wide open and nearly bulging out of his skull. He stares straight up at the ceiling, the steady beeping of the heart monitor slowly climbing as the seconds tick by.

“Nick called you,” Phil blurts.

Steve frowns, not sure what Phil’s getting at, but the agent expands upon the statement soon enough.

“The 0-9-7A. Nick called you in,” Phil repeats.

“Right,” Steve says easily. “They said you might be a bit hazy on the details. It’s okay, don’t push yourself.”

Steve’s assurances seem to do little to calm Phil down. If anything, he only seems to grow more distressed—his hands ball into fists at his sides as he squeezes his eyes shut, his breaths coming short and fast.

“I remember you showing up,” Phil says. “I remember we… Oh, God.”

“Phil?” Steve says questioningly, half out of his seat.

“Some of the things I said… I never should’ve said them,” Phil says.

“It’s alright,” Steve assures him.

“Please don’t say that it is,” Phil argues weakly. “I know this is asking… far more than I have any right to ask at this point, but is there any way you can forget what I said?”

“You want me to forget it,” Steve echoes, realization dawning on him. “Because you regret saying it.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind and I know that’s no excuse, but please believe me when I say I never would have said those things if I had been,” Phil says, his face white as a sheet. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Captain.”

Steve feels his stomach sink like a lead balloon. And here he’d told Thor that it might turn out alright after all. With a stiff nod, he rises the rest of the way out of his chair and stoops to collect his shield from where it rests against his chair.

“I’m guessing you’d probably like to be alone,” he says.

“I think… that would be best,” Phil says, turning his head away. “I’m sorry.”

Steve doesn’t bother with an answer, just walks out of the room and down the hallway before he overstays his welcome. The thundering of his heartbeat is the only thing in his ears as he moves through the medical facility with such speed that he finds himself outside without even realizing he’d left.

He’d been an idiot. He’d made a complete and utter fool of himself. Phil had been under the influence of a powerful hallucinogen, he probably could’ve been lead into saying just about anything. Steve had projected his own wants and desires onto the agent and Phil had responded accordingly. And he’d been stupid enough to take it at face value. He’d been stupid enough to let himself believe that Phil saw him in the same light.

Clenching his fists and squaring his jaw, he sets off towards the Tower, intent on spending the rest of the night holed up with however many punching bags they had in stock.

* * *

Phil swipes a hand over his face for the second time in minutes, willing his coffee to do its job. He’d been released from the medical facility two days ago and, despite Nick’s request for him to take it easy, he had thrown himself back into work. It was easier this way.

He couldn’t remember much about the incident, but he remembered enough to recall that Steve had been called in to help him out. There were hazy bits and pieces, but most of it’s a fog. Still, the parts he does remember make him glad that the second time he’d woken up in the hospital, it had been to an empty room. He’d been harboring feelings for Steve for some time and if he’d ever had any plans to act on them, they were gone now. Blurting out his feelings for the other man while he was high as a kite has left him more ashamed than he can ever recall being in recent memory and at this point he’s sure a light breeze could knock over what’s left of his dignity. And so he’s holed himself up in his temporary office—because he’s not sure he can stand to be in his usual office just yet—and tried to keep himself busy.

Frankly, he’s not sure he can look Steve in the face after this. Steve had done just what he always did—whatever he could do to help. It hadn’t been anything more. Steve had done this as a favor to Nick and that was the end of it. Phil had hoped that, at the very least, he and Steve might grow to be friends. Yes, he admired him as Captain America, but in all honesty, he found Steve Rogers to be far more compelling. And… Steve _noticed_ him. He called Phil by name. He genuinely seemed like he wanted to be around Phil.

But that was over now. He’d seen how quickly Steve had fled the room after he’d remembered the things he’d said. The soldier had done his job, he’d stuck around long enough to make sure Phil would be alright and… it was better this way. His pining had been ridiculous to begin with—the idea that Steve could ever even find him remotely attractive was laughable. While he wished it hadn’t ended this way, Phil can only think that it’s better the embers had been stamped out.

A knock at his door tears him away from his musings and he sits back in his chair, straightening his jacket. He has a job to do, after all. No time for all this self-pity.

“Come in,” he calls.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s Peter Parker who’s come calling. The teen offers an awkward wave as he slides into the office.

“Mr. Parker, aren’t you supposed to be in World History?” Phil asks.

“Actually I’m supposed to be in Chemistry,” Peter corrects him, closing the door behind him. “But I figured if there was a class I could afford an extended bathroom break during, this was it.”

“Right. Chemistry. We switched fourth block around,” Phil sighs, massaging his temples. “I’d forgotten.”

“Hey, um… I was just wondering, you know, after everything,” Peter says, his voice dropping in volume as he inches towards the desk. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Phil answers smartly.

“See, you say that, but I don’t think you really are,” Peter argues, eyeing him meaningfully. “And I feel kinda responsible for that.”

“Parker, this has nothing to do with you,” Phil assures him.

“That stuff would’ve been all over me if you hadn’t pushed me out of the way,” Peter says. “I would’ve been the one locked in here instead. And I’ve been thinking about it and… I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done.”

It’s a thought that hasn’t left Phil’s mind either. Putting Peter in his place makes the situation even more unsavory than it had been to begin with. If he’s thankful for one thing, it’s that it hadn’t come to that.

“Well, it’s over and done with,” Phil says.

“Are you and Cap cool?” Peter asks, looking hesitant.

Phil bristles at the comment, but recovers quickly enough. “As I said, it’s over and done with.”

“So… not cool, then,” Peter deduces.

“It’s a complicated matter and not your concern,” Phil says crisply.

“Okay that ‘not your concern’ stuff is bullshit,” Peter says, jabbing an index finger at him in an accusatory manner. “Look, it’s personal and I get it, but… I’m not saying you have to talk about it, but we’re worried. The team. And me. Just… we want you to be okay and if there’s something we can do to help, we’d like to do it.”

Phil inhales deeply before letting it out on one long, slow breath. He wills himself to relax, knowing that getting irritated will accomplish nothing other than snapping at someone who doesn’t deserve it. Maybe he should’ve taken Nick’s advice and taken a few sick days after all.

“I’ll be okay, Peter,” Phil says at length. “This isn’t easy for me to deal with and it may take time for me to work it out, but… I’ll be okay. And even if it may not seem it, your concern and that of your teammates really does mean a great deal to me.”

This seems to appease Peter somewhat, although the concern written in his features lingers.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to take a sick day,” Peter says.

“I don’t take sick days,” Phil says, adjusting his tie.

“Hey, I’m being serious about this,” Peter says, folding his arms across his chest. “I get that you’ve got a reputation to keep up but we wouldn’t think any less of you for needing time off.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Will you?”

Phil shakes his head and rises from his desk. “I promise I’m not trying to shut you up when I say that I will. Now, I think it’s about time you got back to Chemistry.”

He can see Peter is ready and raring to go with an argument, but no sooner has he opened his mouth than a loud ringing cuts him off. Phil can hardly believe his luck. Of all the days for someone to pull a fire alarm… well, nothing for it now.

“Alright, get moving, Parker,” Phil says above the noise. “I’ll see you outside once the hallways are clear.”

“Are you sure?” Peter asks as they leave the office, merging into the throng of students and faculty already bleeding into the halls.

“Positive. Someone’s probably just looking to get out of class,” Phil assures him. “Find your class and meet up at the evacuation point. I’ll be out as soon as the school’s clear.”

Peter seems hesitant to leave, but eventually agrees and disappears into the crowd. Clearing the school doesn’t take long—as Phil can boast having Midtown High’s quickest evacuation time on record—and soon enough Phil is making the last sweep through empty halls. It’s while he’s checking the boy’s locker room that he finds the school isn’t quite as empty as he’d thought it would be. There’s a student huddled in the corner, his hands over his ears and his back towards Phil. He doesn’t recognize the boy from the back, but then, it’s not always easy keeping track of that many kids.

As he moves forward to help, it’s plain to see the boy is terrified and perhaps even in some pain. Panic attack, perhaps. Phil can hear whimpering now that he’s closer and he reaches out, resting a hand atop the boy’s raven black hair as he crouches to his level.

“Alright, alright, let’s get you out of here,” Phil says coaxingly. “Can you tell me your name?”

“You mean… y-you forgot me already?” the boy asks.

“Well, I’m pretty good with faces,” Phil says. “Maybe if I could see yours?”

The boy sniffles, but nods slowly. As he lifts his head, Phil is greeted by a pale face and two sharp emerald eyes. As a sinking feeling of dread settles in his stomach, a grin stretches across the boy’s face.

“Forgotten me already, Son of Coul?”

Phil recoils sharply, but not in time to avoid the dust blown in his face. He’s quick to get to his feet, staggering back to the far wall as he coughs up whatever he’d just breathed in, knowing that it couldn’t be good. He fumbles for his concealed weapon, his heart rate rising as the boy disappears in a shimmer of green light, only to give way to Loki. The god walks toward him slowly, arms spread as though he were greeting an old friend.

“So good to see you again,” Loki says. “I take it you and the good captain enjoyed yourselves?”

“What do you want, Loki?” Phil growls.

“Ah, but that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Loki says, gliding even closer. “My, my, you do seem to be having some trouble with that weapon of yours.”

Even after Phil had managed to retrieve his gun, he finds his fingers too numb to get a proper grip and his legs growing too weak to keep him upright. He shakes his head, attempting to clear his vision, and knows that he’s fighting a losing battle.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Loki says, grabbing his wrist.

He struggles weakly as the god pins his hand above his head and swings blindly with his free hand. The blow may as well have been a gentle breeze for all it had done, but despite that, he continues to try even as his attempts grow weaker by the second.

“You’re likely wondering just what’s happening to you,” Loki says, at last snatching his other wrist out of the air. “You see, the pollen I introduced into your system this past week did its job well. But did you know it has latent effects as well? Yes, even now it’s lingering in your system and what you just inhaled is the catalyst that reignites it. I think you’ll find that stage two is not quite so enjoyable as the first.”

“And just… just what do you plan to do?” Phil slurs, his knees wobbling dangerously.

“Well, you’re going to take a pleasant little nap,” Loki informs him. “And when you awake, perhaps everything will be said and done.”

“What… are you… _doing_?” Phil demands, upright now only because Loki has him pinned against the wall.

“Why, _winning_ , of course,” Loki answers with a grin.

He doesn’t get the chance to ask just what Loki’s winning—or to tell him that he won’t—because a few short moments later, the pull of the pollen in his system becomes too much and he slips into unconsciousness.

* * *

There’s an argument happening. Or at least, he thinks there is. There’s more than one voice and they sound angry enough. But the sound’s muddled, distorted like he’s underwater. He pushes towards it, struggling for clarity and in an instant, the full weight of consciousness comes crashing down on him, drawing a soft moan from him.

“Agent Coulson!”

Phil squints, feeling like his skull’s made out of wood and a thousand termites are going to town on it. He’s lying on his side, he discovers, hands and feet bound. And _muzzled_ , of all things. His chest is tight. It feels like he’s burning up. From his horizontal view he can see Steve, Thor and the kids some distance away. He has to force his stomach to stay settled as he’s grabbed by the arm and jerked abruptly upward. His head lolls against his shoulder and he has a feeling the glare he’s attempting to level at Loki isn’t all that threatening.

“How good of you to join us,” Loki says brightly.

“Let him go, Loki,” Steve says firmly.

“I would be glad to, Captain,” Loki replies. “In fact, I would go so far as to return him to you with the antidote as well. On one condition.”

“And just what is this condition?” Thor rumbles in agitation.

“An exchange,” Loki declares. “I return the Son of Coul to you and the Captain comes with me.”

“Why do you want Cap?” Ava demands suspiciously.

“As it turns out, the Red Skull has something I desire. Of course, he wasn’t going to simply hand it over, so I made him a proposition: he gives me what I desire and I would deliver to him what he desires,” Loki says smoothly. “A simple business transaction, no different than what I am offering you now.”

“Give us one good reason why we should believe anything you say,” Peter fires back.

“I can give you one _very_ good reason,” Loki says, shaking Phil roughly. “You see, while you’ve taken your time finding us and engaging me in conversation, you’ve been whittling away what remains of your Son of Coul’s life. The pollen which you thought you ran out of his system has been revived, thanks to a compound of my own creation. Only I’m afraid true love’s first kiss won’t save him this time, Captain.”

Phil’s head swims, his body thrumming with pain and heat burning through his veins. He’s just barely following what’s being said, but he hears the mocking tone the god’s voice takes and can see Steve bristling at the comment. He’s shaken again and, by this point, it feels like he’s a slab of meat being hawked at a butcher shop. The conversation continues around him, but Phil finds himself having to focus just to keep himself conscious. Breathing has become a chore—so much so that he’s completely lost focus on what’s going on around him. With spots dancing in his vision, he can’t even begin to guess at how much time has passed, but he’s certain it’s not nearly as long as it feels. The spots grow in size and number, the gaps between them shrinking rapidly, until at last, despite his best efforts, they cover his vision and give way to an inky blackness.

* * *

Maybe it was triggered by the situation, maybe it’s because of the pollen working its way through his system once again, but whatever the reason, in the solitude afforded to him by unconsciousness, he remembers.

Not everything, he thinks, but more than before. Enough.

When Phil had awoken following the 0-9-7A, he’d remembered some of the things he’d said to Steve. Private things. Things about his feelings for the man, the true extent of those feelings. He’d assumed that when Steve had claimed it was alright, he was just echoing sentiments expressed when Phil had blurted those things out to him. Because, in fact, he couldn’t remember Steve’s response.

But now…

Steve hadn’t said anything to placate him. No, this had been anything but. What comes back to him now—with startling clarity—is the image of Steve’s eyes. Those deep blue eyes that had gazed down upon him with nothing short of love, like he was someone worth loving despite everything that was happening. There had been such honesty, such earnest affection in those eyes, and Phil had dismissed it.

Thinking the worst, Phil had told him to forget it. That he regretted saying the things he had.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

* * *

Consciousness—though without clarity and anything but pain-free—comes as a surprise to Phil. He’s not being dangled like a work on a hook, but he _is_ being held. Thankfully, it seems to be minus the shackles and muzzle from when he was last conscious. He can hear explosions or the roar of thunder or both. He feels the ground quake beneath him. He hears heavy breathing.

“Bleedin,’” Phil wheezes.

Steve gazes down at him, blood dripping from his temple and running down his face. His cowl is gone and Phil can’t begin to wonder where it might be.

“What?” Steve asks, panting.

“You’re bleeding,” Phil says, forcing the words out.

“It’s fine,” Steve says.

He looks up, looks around him, absently running his fingers through Phil’s hair as he does so. He seems distracted, and as he suddenly hefts Phil up and dashes from behind his cover, Phil can see why. It’s nothing short of chaos around them. It looks more like a war than anything else. Well, what Phil manages to see of it anyway. The sudden movement leaves him feeling dizzy and ill and he has to shut his eyes against it.

At last Steve stops, coming to a crouch and lowering Phil with him. There’s a shrill whistle and Steve huddles protectively over him, raising his shield to cover them both. He can hear the soldier grunt as the explosion above them rocks them both. Steve’s panting mingles with his gasps for air as they wait for the dust to settle.

“Steve,” Phil rasps, trying to get his attention. “Don’t… don’t go with him. Don’t trust Loki.”

“You’re a little behind,” Steve answers him, looking around once more, once he’s determined it’s safe to do so. “I’m not going with Loki. He lied. There’s no antidote.”

“Oh,” Phil says faintly.

“Things went south, he called in some backup, so I called in some backup of my own,” Steve tells him. “Don’t worry. Someone’s on the way to pick you up. We’re gonna get you out of here and get you help.”

“Steve,” he says insistently.

“Yeah?”

“I remembered,” Phil says. “I remembered… the things you said to me. When I told you…”

“Phil, this really isn’t the time,” Steve says, cutting him off sharply.

“ _No_ ,” Phil fires back, loud enough to bring spots back to his vision. “I have to… I told you I regretted… it and I… I don’t… I just couldn’t… remember and if I… don’t… make it, I wanted to… I wanted to fix… this. I didn’t meant to… hurt you and…”

“Christ, that’s enough,” Steve says, lowering him onto his back. “Breathe, Phil. I need you to breathe. Come on, _breathe_.”

He tries. He really does. The desperation in the captain’s chest makes his chest feel even tighter than it had before and this isn’t what he was trying to do. He just wants Steve to know that he wasn’t trying to reject his feelings. He just assumed… well, he’d assumed what he’d always assumed: that Steve could never feel the same. And here he is with this _poison_ in his veins and no antidote in sight and he really, truly doesn’t wish to die—not again—but if he has to, he’s going to make this right first.

Everything hurts. It’s so hard to breathe. But Steve is hovering over him, hand on his chest and begging him to keep breathing and looking down at him with those too-blue eyes of his and he doesn’t want to go. He needs to explain, needs to fix this hurt he’d caused.

“Sorry,” he hiccups breathlessly. “I’m sorry…”

“Stop,” Steve snarls at him, worry pushing him to anger. “Just shut up and save your breath.”

Phil knows he must sound like a lunatic. He knows he’s rambling, but he just can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of him. It’s not like him, not at all, but this whole situation is so far outside of what’s typical of him that perhaps it can be excused. He’s afraid. He doesn’t often admit that, but he’s afraid now. He’s afraid of dying, afraid of dying and leaving Steve with this pain that he’d caused. If he could just have a little more time, a little more air in his lungs to talk this out…

He’s choking.

His chest feels like it’s being stepped on or caved in. It’s pain as agonizing as Loki’s spear through his heart as he coughs and tries to suck in air around it. The taste of copper rises from the back of his throat and one, harsh cough brings it bubbling over his lips. It’s too much like before. It’s Steve staring down at him now—and not Nick—but he’s half tempted to check for a wound in his chest all the same.

If only he could breathe.

Steve’s shouting again, but it’s difficult to focus on what he’s saying. The spots are back in his vision and Phil can’t seem to stave them off and fight to breathe all at once. A blur of red and gold tells him they’re not alone anymore. A quick conversation takes place between Iron Man and Captain America before Phil feels himself being lifted off the ground once more.

Even as his consciousness fades in and out, he’s aware of the difference in sensation between being held by a pair of human arms and those of Tony’s suit. He finds himself panicking at the thought of going away, of leaving this hanging between himself and Steve, unsure if he’ll ever get a chance to see it resolved. Perhaps that’s what keeps him stubbornly holding on to the soldier’s hand, refusing to let go despite barely having enough strength to grasp his hand in the first place.

Through his blurry vision, he can see Steve’s expression morph into something softer than it previously had been. There’s sadness and fear and pain in his eyes and Phil hates the thought that he’d put them there. He feels Steve’s hand squeeze his tightly and although nothing is said aloud, Phil understands enough to let go.

So he does.

* * *

Phil Coulson has not had a good week.

That pretty much goes without saying. Still, waking up much less dead than he’d expected is something of a plus. The nurses come in and the doctor follows close by, despite the lateness of the hour, and he’s given a rundown of what’s happened. Apparently, they’d received a little Asgardian intervention in the form of Thor’s mother. She’s been able to ascertain what sort of damage her adopted son had caused and managed to concoct an antidote of her own.

Still, it would take some time before he would be fully recovered—although the antidote had saved his life, it couldn’t undo the damage the poison had already caused. Phil quietly bemoans the idea of an extended hospital stay as the nurses and doctor leave the room, but given the alternative, he supposes he should try not to complain too much. And perhaps work on getting a gift basket sent to Thor’s mother. Thankfully at least, this time around they’d seen fit to keep visitors out of his room until after he regained consciousness. Given that the process was neither speedy nor dignified, he was glad for some privacy.

Even when he’s fully woken, he finds himself exhausted and still longing for sleep. His body feels weak and achy, his head fuzzy. He wonders how much of this is from the pollen and how much is due to whatever’s going through the IV in his arm. Still trying to get his bearings, he looks to the side—which is more his head lolling against the pillow than anything else—and finds that nearly every flat surface is covered with cards or flowers. There’s even a ridiculously large stuffed bear in the corner.

A knock at the door draws his attention. It’s something of a surprise, given that it’s late at night, but he calls for whoever it is to come in all the same. The sight of Steve Rogers is more than a little surprising and he’s not sure immediately just how to take it.

“Is it alright if I come in?” Steve asks him.

He hesitates, wondering what saying ‘yes’ will entail, but finds he doesn’t want to turn the man away. It’s funny, considering he’d been so desperate not to leave the soldier’s side, from last he remembers, but now that he’s a bit more lucid and not dying from what he understands, he’s not sure where they stand with each other any longer. The task of clearing that up doesn’t sound particularly appealing to him just now.

“Yeah,” Phil rasps all the same.

Steve nods, slipping inside the room and gently easing the door shut behind him. He gestures to the many cards that decorate the room.

“There are more, but we ran out of places to put them,” he says.

“More?” Phil echoes in confusion. “How?”

“Well, word on the street is you’re actually a pretty decent principal,” Steve says, lowering himself into a chair. He shrugs as he rests his shield beside him. “The kids really like you, you know.”

“The stuffed bear,” Phil says, clearing his throat. “That’s from Stark, isn’t it?”

“We tried to talk him out of it,” Steve says with an apologetic look.

Phil is entirely sure that they did. But once Tony Stark sets his mind on something, there’s really not much anyone can do at that point. Still, the rest of the cards come as something of a surprise. Whatever story Nick had spun to the press must have really tugged at the heartstrings for this kind of attention.

“Steve,” Phil says, turning his head to look the other man in the eye, “can we talk?”

“You sure you’re up to it?” Steve asks. “You’ve had a pretty rough time of things.”

“So have you,” Phil points out.

Steve ducks his head in acknowledgement but doesn’t say a word.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says quietly.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Steve tells him. “I went into that situation fully understanding that it might not turn out the way I thought it would. But I got my hopes up and I forgot that. I let myself get hurt when I knew better. I don’t want you feeling obligated to say what you think I want to hear just because I took this personally when I shouldn’t have. Alright?”

“I only asked you to forget what I’d said because I couldn’t remember what you’d told to me,” Phil says slowly. “And… admittedly, I still don’t remember everything that happened. But when Loki poisoned me again… I don’t know, it triggered some memories. I never would have reacted the way I did if I’d remembered the things you’d said. It’s just that I could only recall the things _I’d_ said to you and I assumed you were telling me it was alright just to spare my feelings. I was mortified by the whole thing.”

Steve began to frown as Phil spoke and his frown has only grown deeper by the time Phil finishes. He wonders just what’s going through the soldier’s mind—if he’s wasting his time explaining himself, if the damage has been done and there’s nothing for it—when Steve meets his gaze.

“You said you never thought that would ever happen,” Steve says, watching Phil curiously. “You said you never thought that I’d want you. Why?”

“Well, to be fair, I thought I was talking to a hallucination,” Phil says.

“Because you felt you couldn’t ever say those things to me?” Steve concludes.

Phil swallows thickly. “I’d never planned to.”

“But why?” Steve wants to know, leaning forward in his seat. “If you felt that way, why wouldn’t you say anything?”

“Because you’re you and I’m me,” Phil blurts. “I’m not… Look, not to get down on myself here, but it always seemed to me that you could do a lot better than a middle-aged guy with a receding hairline.”

Steve huffs impatiently. “I don’t see why you should decide that for me.”

“Do you understand what you’re saying right now?” Phil asks him, sighing heavily.

“I understand that I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since we first met,” Steve counters readily. “I understand that I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit wondering what it might be like to take you out to dinner… or come home to you. I understand that I’ve spent more than enough time wondering how to approach you about this. It’s not something I’ve taken lightly, Phil.”

“I’m not saying it is,” Phil is quick to reply. “It’s just… I’m having a difficult time wrapping my head around the idea.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says, nodding slowly. “You can take all the time you need to do that. But, just so I know: is it an idea you _want_ to wrap your head around?”

“Yes,” Phil says without hesitation.

Steve smiles when Phil clears his throat, embarrassed at how quickly he’d responded.

“Well, if it is, then do you think maybe we could try this again?” Steve asks as his hand moves to cover Phil’s. “Maybe just start with this and try dinner when you’re out of here?”

“I’d like that,” Phil says.

They sit in a comfortable silence, hand in hand, as Phil gradually begins to give in to the pull of sleep. But a thought makes its home in his brain like a worm in an apple and, try as he might, he just can’t seem to get any peace until it’s said.

“I know these beds aren’t exactly built for two,” Phil mumbles, “but would it be too presumptuous of me to ask…?”

“No.”

This time, it’s Steve who is embarrassed by his own quick reply, but Phil doesn’t take much notice. It’s a bit of a trial to get them both squeezed into the hospital bed, but by the time they settle down Phil finds that even if it’s not the most comfortable of arrangements, they’re both far happier this way than they’d been before. Phil knows this will all take time to get used to, but as he lies with his head on Steve’s chest, the cadence of the soldier’s beating heart lulling him to sleep, he thinks that perhaps it won’t take quite as much time as he’d first assumed.

* * *

Steve watches as Phil herds their young heroes back towards the Helicarrier. They’ve come a long way. A very long way. There’s even been talks of asking Spider-Man to join the Avengers but, for now, it’s still just talk. He waits patiently as the agent comes over to meet him, tablet held at the ready for Steve to sign off on the training exercise.

“The kids had a great time,” Phil tells him as he hands the tablet off.

“I’m glad. They’re really shaping up into something else,” Steve says, signing wherever Phil indicates. “They actually managed to surprise me a couple of times today.”

“I’m sure they’ll tell me all about it, but I’d like to hear the accurate version as well,” Phil says, pulling back the tablet and tucking it beneath his crossed arms when Steve has finished. He smiles up at the taller man. “Tell me about it at dinner?”

“Are you making that chicken dish again?” Steve asks hopefully.

“After spending all day with the kids, I think you’ve earned it,” Phil says with a smirk.

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks, his hand curling around the back of Phil’s neck. “Think I earned a little dessert, too?”

“I think you earned a three course meal,” Phil answers, tugging him in by his belt.

“Hey! Save the hanky panky for your own time, Coulson!”

Phil groans and reluctantly draws away from Steve at the sound of Peter’s voice. Judging by the set of Phil’s jaw, the young hero is in for a stern talking to on sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. With a shake of his head, Steve presses a kiss to Phil’s cheek.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Not if I’m indicted for murder.”

“Play nice with the kids, Phil. You know you love them.”

Phil grumbles but doesn’t disagree. Their young heroes have come a long way in the past few months, but as Phil offers him a quick kiss and a promise to see him tonight, Steve can’t help but think they’re not the only ones who have.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a paired fic! The alternate was written by Lywinis: [SHIELD Has Procedures for Everything (In Other Words, RTFM)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3412595)
> 
> It started as a Skype chat and it grew into this monster. Let's write sex pollen fic! It'll be fun!
> 
> WE WERE SO WRONG.


End file.
